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son poem

he echado el mundo
el más triste del año
tristes son que saben no amor
este tazón de fuente de plata antiguo el míos
sueño dulce en sus sepulcros humildes
la música i oído con usted era más que música
quién ama la lluvia
qué nosotros ahora hará
mi dolor, cuando ella está aquí con mí
las cortinas de la noche caían rápidamente

 



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